An Orphan’s Story of Survival

My parents were a dashing, young military couple, and life was good. Father tells stories and smiles wistfully when he speaks of it now, a half-century later. My memories unfortunately began when it was horribly wrong.

I was born in 1959. I was the second of five children.

We soon discovered Mother was a problem. When Father learned he was to do a tour of duty in Vietnam in 1965, he took the precaution of moving us to Louisiana to be near his family so they could help. While Father was in Vietnam, we were fighting another war at home. Mother’s abuse and neglect surfaced. She drank more and often left us alone at night. When she was there, she would be entertaining one of our many “uncles,” as she called them.

At the ages of 5 and 6, I found myself trying to be mother to the rest of my brothers and sisters. I was the oldest female and was given the responsibility of taking care of the younger ones, as well as overseeing my older brother, who Mother never thought could take care of himself.

We were living in Louisiana the first time Mother left us alone for days. I can still smell the urine-soaked bedding and laundry permeating those overcast days. The baby, Kelly, was still in diapers, and Brian and Sissy both had trouble with wetting the bed.

I remember being desperate enough to use the bathtub as a washtub to attempt to provide clean sheets and clothing for us. Somehow I felt if we were clean, we would be safe. I could never quite get us clean, and we were never quite safe either.